


I wanna be your vacuum cleaner

by dudewhereismypie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Comic dramatic Dean, Fluffy, Friends to Lovers, M/M, kind of funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 17:50:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3859348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dudewhereismypie/pseuds/dudewhereismypie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester, officially, hated being in love.<br/>And maybe, one day he thought, his experience was far more torturing because he was in love with no one less than Castiel Novak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I wanna be your vacuum cleaner

Dean Winchester, officially, hated being in love. 

It made him clingy, moody, like a teenager with no control of hormones and emotions whose favorite movie is Twilight. It was _terrifying_ , because now he was resumed in a disturbing pool of mess. He felt out of control of everything and much more himself, and if there’s anything that itches under his skin was lack of control. 

And maybe, one day he thought, his experience was far more torturing because he was in love with no one less than Castiel Novak.

Not that he wasn’t now far past of the mild crisis about the whole swing both ways thing, because he was, and he was okay with that, really. And not that he could count in one hand how many people he had true feelings for and will still have fingers left, because he knew how this whole relationship deal was supposed to work even if it never worked too well with him.

No, the main pain in the ass of it all was because his asshole heart had chosen Castiel fucking Novak. The Castiel who can pretty much get away with anything with a mischievous grin and a blink of blue eyes (he seriously could say “I will stab your whole family” and make you think he's the most kind creature on the planet, no kidding). The one with a tie full of flamingos and socks with bees between a mysterious amount of clothes with animal stamps – not to mention the incident with a spoon costume stripped in black and yellow for an ABC party (“Bee my little spoon? Get it?” _Yeah, Cas, sure_ ). It was too the same Castiel who he had suspicions of swallowing the whole fucking dictionary and could use zephyr and acquiescence in the same sentence about the day weather and not sound like a complete douche bag. The guy who warmed milk in a frying pan while talking about poetry at 3AM, the same who faked that he was an obnoxious Russian tourist because the man who worked at Starbucks was being a moron to Dean. 

Putting it in a very eloquently resumed way, his heart was a fucking asshole, yeah, but Castiel was an A+ PhD master of all universes in asshole-ness because, seriously, how could anyone be wonderful like that? How can it even be fucking real? _Asshole_. 

Dean, by now, was almost getting used to his daily basis moping. He’d wake up grumpy after a night clouded with blue eyes, he would eat barely tasting while dozing his mind on the last time he talked to him – and it would repeat over and over in his head. Had he said something stupid? Geez, was he staring too much? _Oh god, no, tell me I didn’t snorted when I was laughing._ He would lose his appetite soon, he knew, all of a sudden his stomach will be all too full with a frozen thousands flips of _goddamned_ butterflies just because he would remember the silly joke he told on the bench that got him a gift of a full hearted laugh; he would remember how Castiel’s eyes cringed and the nose frowned, he would remember the cheeks rising, making the eyes smaller and not even that could outshine the spark of the sky-lighted eyes; he would remember the gummy smile, wide full of teeth and pink lips; he remember how he drank it all and _oh fuck, I’m so in love_.

Falling in love with Castiel felt now like something that would happen sooner or later. Felt like sleeping after too much time with insomnia – you’re suddenly there, you dozen off forgetting who you are and how the hell did you get there and fall, heavy. Once you start you don’t find the will to stop, or you don’t remember how. You’re there and you can’t get enough.

Castiel made him understand cheesy songs. All the teenage babbling heartache in the letters would made _sense_ , for Christ sake, and he _hated_ it. Made all the love stories speak directly to his heart, like now he had some channel tuned on that would catch waves of a world he never bothered to look twice. He didn’t know how to tune out and he felt much closer to sixteen than twenty three. _Twenty three_ and he discovered Taylor Swift and that fucking song with colors and love wouldn’t leave his fucking mind (maybe because he listened to it in his way to classes). 

Dean felt like nothing could screw this feelings over; and he tried, hell even when he didn’t know he was trying. He got angry of how easy Castiel could unsettle his heart, how he played with his moods and emotions not even knowing it. He was jealous all the time and frustrated because he had nothing but tied hands. He thought about never again going out of his room before eight in the morning because his brain would simply give up on being functional with him crossing the hall, sleepy and gorgeous. He knew he was being an asshole but, hey, Castiel was the biggest asshole of history. They fought over stupid things, they ignored each other. However it never endured more than two days, he felt like nothing, _nothing_ could make this small. 

Maybe worse, only made it bigger. Days refusing to look directly at his eyes would made him see all new shades of colors, would make him notice every little detail, made him stare and try to memorize every line and curve like he never saw him in his life. His chest was swollen up and all that he pumped was _Cas, Cas, Cas_ , and he felt drowning, sometimes, and every time he thought about gasping for a breath a wave would fill his mouth and force through his throat, filling him, washing him, making him nauseous and trembling. His heart started to beat like it wants a way out. Dean understands it.

And Dean thought this day _that was it_ , he would never feel this way for another person. He would never see another eyes without thinking about all the shades of blue, he would never see another smile and not remember the goofy laugh. All the hands would be too pale or too small. All the jokes too normal, all the answers too predictable. He would be, for the rest of his life, haunted by Castiel. _Love? More like a curse_. 

Maybe, just a little maybe, things would be easier if he talked about it. Well, his brother knew (“Jesus, will you grow up and tell him already?”), Charlie and Jo (“Veterinary called, said he still has your balls.”), and pretty much everyone in the volleyball team knew because one saw the picture he held in his locker while he was changing before practice (What? He liked to see him. Sue him.) and now the gossip was all over the place. He had to work on his poker face too because he knew the giggles from Charlie whenever he was looking over Cas were getting annoyingly frequent.

But how in the hell it was supposed to work? _Hey, Cas, so, wassup, I’m so much in love with you it’s gross, wanna make out?_ Yeah, that would work out just peachy.

To make things completely a major copy of a teenage novel, Castiel is numbingly loyal, the kind of friend who is perceptive and doesn’t buy any shit when notices something is wrong. Dean likes to think that he’d done a fair good job with hiding things, he could always mask his moping with soreness after training or stress pre-finals. Sometimes it was harder, sometimes his body would move without his consent. It was an understatement now how much his senses grieved for not touching him, and the itch in his fingers sometimes got out of control. There were dangerous times watching him nap over books on the library, no one to witness how his fingers ghosted over his face. It was very disturbing too, the times when they were in a place so crowded he would dare touch him, holding his wrist and laying on his shoulder. Everybody is looking so it means nothing, he thought, because the things we hold most close to the heart only few we trust to know. 

His excuses had growth better from _no, really, I thought I saw a spider in your hair_ which earned him a full confused look and a laugh of “you had too much drinks”. Maybe he has just got a little bit careless, because now he would touch his hair and lift the soft curls up the blue eyes to say _you look better this way_ , and he thought it was fine because now it earned him smiles. 

The thing is, bottling emotions is a huge pain in the ass. Dean was used to be more carefree, speak his mind, flirt, joke, and now… Now sometimes he felt so much pressure he was sure there were fucking minerals solidifying in his chest (hey, he learned something in geology). So it ended up being been one of those nights. When he would drank himself to oblivion and wake up in a strange dorm with a stranger sleeping beside him. It didn’t happen very often, only when he thought he was not going to bare any more second without exploding into a fucking mess and sobbing like a schoolgirl. No, he had some dignity left.

Dean breathed the smell of a clean and warm pillow and frowned, feeling that his arm under his chest has gone numb long time ago. He moved to lay on his back and turned to the warm body on his side (maybe his brain would cut him a slack and remember who the fuck he was with) and blinked three times, focusing on a tangle of messy dark hair before gazing two sharpened blue eyes that were staring at him.

“Oh shit.” he muttered in instinct, voice rough, patting himself only to discover he was still full clothed. _Thanks, shit._ Well it was a relief, sort of, he wasn’t naked and had drunk sex with his major crush, _hurray_. Dean ignored the disappointing hint on his brain and decided to stick with the part of it that found good that his memory from touching Cas wouldn’t be a drunk mess.

“Hello, you.” Castiel looked very much awake, like he was there just waiting for Dean to wake up, and now he was just watching Dean panicking. Castiel looked very amused too, and Dean knew something besides his headache was coming. That look in Castiel’s eyes always equals trouble.

“What did I do?” He had some answer with the little mischievous glow in the skies of his friend's eyes and shivered. _Shit, not good._ “I did something stupid, didn’t I?”

“Did you? It was quite educational to be honest.”

The answer came pleased and there were a pause, stretched for his confused look and the knot on his useless brain, when he watched Castiel adjust himself laying on his side. “What?”

“Well, I learned a few things about what you think of me. Very educational.” Dean mumbled some curses under his breath and flattened his hands on his face, but Castiel paid no attention. “You strongly recommended that I should drop college because I am already a PhD on being an asshole.” Dean could feel Castiel raising his eyebrows and smirking and something drop in his stomach. _Fuck._ This was really, really not good, not good at all. “You also mentioned that I made your life into a ‘fucking teenage drama novel’ and that ‘I must have cursed you because this shit is not normal’.”

Dean sensed the air quotes, and even if he chose to amuse himself with the memory of Castiel actually doing air quotes, the pump of his heart didn’t let him. It was strong enough that made him lose his breath. “Shit, shit, shit.” He pressed his palms on his eyes long enough to drag out of focus the pain of hangover. This shit can’t be happening. “Shit.” But Castiel seemed found it too much fun to drop it.

“At some point you were singing something and you were very passionate about being my coffee pot and my…” He chuckled a laugh that seemed to last long enough repressed and Dean refused to look. “… vacuum cleaner.”

“Oooooh, shit.” Dean impulse his body to sit, rubbed his hands on the mess of Castiel’s sheets, nervousness dripping out of his pores, and the apologies were on the tip of his tongue when he looked at the other man again. Dean froze because Castiel was smiling. It was very small, only a wave of the chapped lips, but it reached his eyes and warmed its color; it nursed the panic on his gasps and his heart made a funny thump and he was hot and cold all over. 

“You wanted very much to be my Ford Cortina too.” Castiel whispered this time, and didn’t hide the laugh in his breath. “I thought you liked the Impala though.” Dean mumbled a nervous giggle and felt something in his hand, and didn’t have to look to know that it was Castiel’s on his. Dean hold into the slender fingers, squeezing on a mute _please don’t say I have to go_ and breathed the thin wave of hope Castiel was bringing to his pulse when he squeezed right back. _Shit, how can it even be possible?_ Castiel was still gazing him, long and warm, and his smile went wide and he entangled their fingers, looping his thumb over Dean’s knuckles. “Hey. I am very much grossly in love with you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic and the song Castiel was referring to is all a part of "I Wanna be Yours" from Arctic Monkeys and I had fun imagining Dean drunk singing it to Cas. I'm trash. I'm not sorry.


End file.
